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The Academy of American Poets is the largest membership-based nonprofit organization fostering an appreciation for contemporary poetry and supporting American poets. For over three generations, the Academy has connected millions of people to great poetry through programs such as National Poetry Month, the largest literary celebration in the world; Poets.org, the Academy’s popular website; American Poets, a biannual literary journal; and an annual series of poetry readings and special events. Since its founding, the Academy has awarded more money to poets than any other organization.

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Born in New York in 1970, Jordan Davis was recognized for his editing and criticism as early as high school, winning prizes from the Columbia Scholastic Press Association. Davis went on to attend Columbia College where he studied under Kenneth Koch and was an editor of the college's paper. He graduated with a B.A. in English in 1992, while continuing to work as Koch's assistant and editor.

Davis served as editor of the Poetry Project Newsletter from 1992 to 1994. Davis was also an editor for Teachers and Writers Collaborative for several years. In 1995, he became host and curator of the Poetry City reading series and in 1999, he founded the literary journal The Hat with his Teachers and Writers coworker Chris Edgar.

In 2003, Davis released his first collection of poetry, Million Poems Journal (Faux, 2003). Since then he has coedited several collections of poetry, including Free Radicals: American Poets Before Their First Books (Subpress, 2004) and The Collected Poems of Kenneth Koch (Knopf, 2005). Davis has reviewed poetry for both Publishers Weekly and Kirkus Reviews, and has written about poetry for Paper, Slate, and The Village Voice.

Davis currently writes about poetry for The Constant Critic and The Nation. He is married to the writer Alison Stine. He divides his time between New York and Ohio.

The Man Who Rode the Mule Around the World

Jordan Davis

The please freak
And the likeness monster
Follow the pretend family
On their journey alone
Around the room.
In the middle of the night
Comes the terrifying cry—
"How may I help you"
The tree looks down
And shakes its head.
Under separate cover
Of the night, love
Stalks the streets.
The audit committee
Goes into executive session.
In a faraway bedroom,
A baby smiles. Everything
Is happening by the plan.
The sound of hoofs on brick.
Peach lights in the fog.
The bagels are poorly
But the beer is handcrafted.
A continuous stream of information
Broadcast by the insects:
At the sound of the tone,
Please leave a message.
Ah, they will think.
No one home.
It's good for them to think—
Don't do it for them.
Feel free to shout at the screen.
Feel as free as possible.
Feel freer.

Having a child changes you. For example,
A salmon's face extends forward, a giant underbite
Emerging, and then there's the matter
Hanging off their sides. I am proud to be
An American. Also, I'm proud to be a Protestant,
And wasn't whiteness a smart choice.
When people complain to me about Spielberg's

I tell you I will not make any more raids,
The elusive going-elsewhere motherboard
An electrical sound marking stretches
Afternoon is carving into the wood of us,
That's our modern way of saline allegory—
To make gods of times of day. I won't
Cooperate with this love that steals itself
Into a brand name,

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The please freak
And the likeness monster
Follow the pretend family
On their journey alone
Around the room.
In the middle of the night
Comes the terrifying cry—
"How may I help you"
The tree looks down
And shakes its head.
Under separate cover
Of the night, love
Stalks the streets.
The

The please freak
And the likeness monster
Follow the pretend family
On their journey alone
Around the room.
In the middle of the night
Comes the terrifying cry—
"How may I help you"
The tree looks down
And shakes its head.
Under separate cover
Of the night, love
Stalks the streets.
The

The please freak
And the likeness monster
Follow the pretend family
On their journey alone
Around the room.
In the middle of the night
Comes the terrifying cry—
"How may I help you"
The tree looks down
And shakes its head.
Under separate cover
Of the night, love
Stalks the streets.
The